The rain was our nemesis.

My best friend, the friend of my youth, is here visiting. Our big plan was a road trip to Hovenweep and Mesa Verde. I have wanted to see Hovenweep for a really long time. I know that it doesn't have the scope of Mesa Verde, let alone Chaco Canyon or other ancestral Puebloan sites. But still: I loved the idea of its remoteness and its non-national park status. I probably was cherishing a ridiculous notion of Hovenweep being kind of a secret.

Well, we drove south and east, and got all the way to Blanding, but Blanding proved to be our Waterloo (wait for it): there were flash flood warnings in the area. Rain was sheeting down, and as it did, I remembered what I had read about the roads in Hovenweep, and what I recalled was the basic message was a caution to potential visitors about possible dangers, flash flood-wise.

I am here to say that I shall return to Blanding, and thence I shall arise and go, and go to Innisfree, I mean Hovenweep. However, not on this trip.

We turned around, Blanding and its flash flood warnings having routed us from our intended destination (1) and drove straight to Monticello, and then Cortez, and then Mesa Verde (destination 2), where we slept at the Far View Lodge, after having eaten a lovely dinner, and then we arose this morning to see the following:

I have more to say about all this, including what the sky looked like, and how the little birds flitted their songs above the canyon, and the way the canyons felt, with the coolness of the water seep. But for now, let me say that I think we did all right. Even without Hovenweep.

Today in pictures.

this is the test print. it worked.
we will have a chapbook.

Today began with struggle: to get up, to get motivated for the day, to fit in all the things that needed to happen in class. When you meet just one day a way, and you're in the thick of a project, sometimes your so-called "lesson plan" is as grass, in the Biblical sense, i.e., it is toast.

But then, sometimes good things come of the lesson plan
that came to naught. For instance, the layout works and the students talking to the printer make the transition from layout to document that will print the way it's supposed to. Which means that we have a go on our thick project, i.e., we have a chapbook.

"I triumphed over Adobe."

This is the person who made the layout work. She is a student and she has a bright future ahead of her.

The bright sun signifies that things
got a little hazy. You can see that, right?

Now, after that triumph, things get hazy. I know I ate a sandwich, and I know I went to a meeting, and then another meeting. I also know that I went to Tulie and had a cookie with an old friend, and then I drove downtown to have dinner with the historian. And then: a movie.

We saw Salmon Fishing on the Yemen. It was basically Big Miracle, but on the Yemen. With salmon instead of whales. Frankly, I loved it. Don't judge. Ewan MacGregor = good.

who knows what manner of false blossom? 

Also, it is spring. Which makes all of the above feel a little more blissful.

For heaven's sake.

Well, the people, I have notes for a fancy ass blog post that would probably take like nine pages to get out, because it is complex and intertwine-y and full of philosophical pauses so that you may reflect. But when I went to write it, I thought, gaaa! blah blah blah, I don't have the time left in my allotted years to write that post, which, I may still write it. But not tonight. Tonight, I am going to say the following: today, I

• returned some red shoes I ordered online which did not, as it turns out, fit my IRL feet, to Urban Outfitters, and bought two cute and probably slightly junky rings with the return-o-money (that's a special category of money, in case you haven't heard of it);
• had lunch with a friend;
• left my cell phone AGAIN at a place that required fetching it (the historian was the designated fetcher), but did not realize this fact until later, see below;
• gathered facts and data for two reports I still need to write (can you believe that? me either.);
• met with a student who's doing an independent study book-making project or projects, we shall have to see how it all turns out in the end;
• and only then realized that I had left my cell phone hither and yon;
• and through my superior powers of detection and superb memory, realized where I had probably left it;
• and stewed about it while I drove home, where I could call the place at which my cell phone was most likely residing in its lostness;
• and called, and confirmed, and then called and e-mailed the historian to beg that he deploy his powers of goodness to retrieve, aka fetch, the roustabout phone, which is evidently filled with the desire to be lost;
• and went to the movie with my daughter, because that was the plan, and a little item like a lost phone can't interrupt a movie plan.

The movie was excellent, the phone was retrieved, we had burritos and fresh salsa for dinner, and then took a neighborhood spin on our bikes.

Fill this in with complex intertwinery and some pauses, and you pretty much have my other post, I think, so I think I'll go ahead and skip it. Check in tomorrow for new possible cheap jewelry, a-la-minute dinners, facts and data, and shoes, probably red, and hopefully that fit.

Ireland: so close, so very very very very very very far away.

We are leaving in about 32 hours. Here is what I have accomplished so far in the way of getting ready:

• I have purchased batteries for my camera.
• I have purchased a magazine for the flight.
• I have purchased a pad of watercolor paper and a pan of paints so I can paint with my granddaughters.
  
• I have made lists. A lot of lists.
• I have picked out several activities I want to do in Dublin.
  
• I have revised my manuscript, readied it to send out a zillion places, and have sent some packets of poems to magazines via the internets, and have readied other packets to send.
  
• I have a fresh haircut.
• I have a wardrobe concept.
• I have done most of the laundry. I think.
  

Now: I still have to:

• SEND the manuscript and packets.
• before that, address the freaking envelopes for the packets and manuscripts.
• uh, print the manuscript, copy it a zillion times, and print the packets.
• pack.
• not forget things like all the cords I need to take so all my devices can be charged.
• clean up, sort of, at least a little.
• cancel the milk delivery.
• call the insurance company (ha! endlessly deferrable!).
• finish reading Farewell, My Lovely, which I have read before, but I need to have fully refreshed for my book group. Also, because it's fun.
• Decide what other reading material to bring.

Possibly, I may have a meltdown or two before all of this is accomplished . . . but then, I will be on a plane and we will be, eventually, in Dublin. Seeing the papers of W.B. Yeats, seeing other exhibitions of various stuff, eating in a pub or so, having picnics, taking a trainride to the Ring of Kerry, shopping and seeing a movie with my daughter, and making paintings with my granddaughters.

The little idiosyncrasies that give life its je ne sais quoi.

Anyone besides me reveling in the fact that there is a movie, opening soon at multiplexes everywhere, called Death Race, starring both Joan Allen and Jason Statham? Anyone? Because it just makes me smile.

Oh, and also Ian McShane.

*************

Saturday night update: Tonight, we were going to go see Brideshead Revisited, but first drop by my niece's choir concert to hear her sing, then duck out to make a 7:05 showtime. This week has been an international children's music festival, "In Harmony," here in the city of salt. We went on Wednesday to a remembrance concert--the anniversary of the U.S.'s bombing of Hiroshima. There were several Japanese children's choirs, my niece's choir, and a Kenyan children's choir. The concert was so wonderful we decided to go to tonight's, which was the final event of the festival.

Wellll, the concert was long, just as any sensible person would know it would be, but we kept not leaving for the movie because it was also wonderful. When we left after almost three and a half hours of music--singing, dancing, an amazing marching band from Japan, orchestras, and a breathtaking final piece that involved every single performer--the historian said that it had been uplifting, a perfect word for it. Who is willing to spend time helping children learn to play brass instruments, string instruments, dance, sing? Who is willing to help them put together polished performances that they will probably never forget having been a part of? How sweet are children's voices singing together?

I think you all know how I feel about the movies, but I did not regret for one moment spending the evening this way.